


Oh Baby, Take Me High, High

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/F, Face-Sitting, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 13:44:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17489141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: And Joonmi, for all her love of routine, loves fucking up Minseon’s. Loves fucking her in general.





	Oh Baby, Take Me High, High

**Author's Note:**

> 2015 fic
> 
> girl fic with girl names

There’s a magnetized whiteboard on their fridge. It’s a calendar with foil stickers, labeled “My Special Chores," pastel words faded and scratched. It's leftover from Joonmi's first classroom, includes fourteen spaces for fourteen students. Originally intended—when Joonmi had first hung it—for scribbling grocery lists, doctor’s appointments, important messages.

And it had started out as a joke at first—Minseok scrawling "kiss me before you go off to work, make it hot" in square one, one morning, and Joonmi eagerly following through, tangling her fingers in Minseon’s tight bun, pressing her bodily against the kitchen counter with a fierceness that had the elder gasping. But it worked, works. And they schedule _everything_ now.

Dinners, laundry, kisses, sex, grocery shopping, movie marathons, dish washing, more general apartment tidying (Joonmi always has the even days since there are less). Allowances are made for spontaneity, midnight runs to the Fried Chicken Palace by their house, impromptu trips to the movie theaters, car sex afterwards, unpredictable and hot, slick skin catching on the upholstery as they fog up the mirrors of Joonmi’s nondescript gray sedan.

But they are both creatures of habit, and there are cogs, procedures, patterns. It’s the routine of cohabitation, familiar, comforting, perfected over their years—five—together.

And on Monday, 7:00AM, over bran flakes, eyes still heavy with sleepiness, her puffy cheeks still creased from her pillow, hair pulled in a sloppy bun, Minseon seeks another exception, another interruption to routine.

Joonmi is spreading jam on her toast, socked feet dragging absently against their shag carpet, and across from her on their kitchen table, Minseon is reading her newspaper, absent, too, swirling her spoon in her bowl, mixing sugar, milk, and wheat. And she pauses occasionally to remark on some particularly interesting op-ed, read the horoscopes aloud. But Minseon sets the paper down slowly, hums softly to catch Joonmi’s attention, before speaking. “Joonmi, baby," she drawls, meeting her eyes, pursing her lips. "I want you to ride my tongue. Sit on my face”

It’s a dirty proposition, but no less dirty than Joonmi is used to. She's no stranger to that tongue, the wonderful things it can whisper, the awful, perfect things it can do.

_Ride my fingers_

And _Please just fuck your tongue into me_

And _Let me lick you open_

And _Fuck me with your plastic cock, baby girl_ (They’d scheduled that, too, red-faced after their visit to the sex shop, and Minseon had crawled out of bed afterwards to put a series of exclamation marks, forgoing the usual glittery stickers, because _fuck, babe, that was amazing, fuck babe, I can barely feel my legs_. Minseon had also printed out a novelty award the next day on their computer, “Kim Joonmi: Most Perfect Stroke Game”)

And the most beautiful, most urgent, most irresistibly persuasive _come for me, just—just for me_ , Joonmi ever helpless to that demand, helpless to the answering _need_ that has her spreading Minseon open, with her fingers, with her tongue, the elder gasping and writhing and coming in the most deliciously decadent way. Just—just for her, too.

 

But right now, the context, the timing is wrong. Alarming, too.

It's Monday morning. A week day. A _work_ day. And _Sunday_ night—just last night—that's for scheduling. Over popcorn, peanut pretzels, cheesy romcoms. In their pajamas, they negotiate who takes out the recycling, who picks up dry cleaning, who waters the plants, who runs to the ATM after work to pay their gas and electricity bill.

They did schedule sex, for Wednesday, after Joonmi finishes report cards. Minseon had promised to splay her open, reward her with the slowest, dirtiest, most devastating tongue fucking Joonmi's ever experienced. Eating her out for _hours_ , you deserve it, multiple orgasms guaranteed. The bubbling anticipation had lent an extra skip to her step this morning as she'd prepared her coffee, brushed her teeth, sat across from the love of her life to eat breakfast.

This—this isn't planned.

 

And in the present, Joonmi chokes, drops her knife jam-side-down on their tablecloth, and Minseon grins. Wide and toothy, bare face crinkling in almost innocence. She brushes the bangs out of her own eyes.

"Right now? Right here?" Joonmi asks, voice slightly unsteady. And that's not unheard of either. Calling in sick once in a while, for sex, for new electronic releases, for comic book film premiers. But those are usually scheduled, too. And in the rational part of Joonmi’s brain, she’s already thinking through to the consequences, how she isn’t sure if it’s early enough for her school to find a substitute, if Minseon can actually take a free day considering her latest project.

But Minseon’s already planted the seed, made her _want_. And Joonmi, for all her love of routine, loves fucking up Minseon’s. Loves fucking her in general.

Minseon’s legs are slightly longer than hers, reach across the table to drag up Joonmi’s pajama pants, and Joonmi starts, squirms.

“Yeah,” she says breezily, smile crinkling further. “Seize the day. There’s this—today, for my horoscope, I want to—”

“You want to fuck me because of your _horoscope_?”

Minseon’s leg continues up as high as it can go. To Joonmi’s knee. Her panda socked toes fumble a little clumsily between Joonmi’s thighs. Joonmi squeezes her legs closed, traps Minseon's foot there. She picks up her knife, wipes at the table.

“I hardly need an excuse to fuck you, Joonmi. Come _on_. Sit on my faaaaaaace.” She lilts up the last word in a long whine, juts out her lip in a childish pout. And Minseon has never been particularly good at petulant persuasion, but Joonmi has never been particularly good at saying "no." Not when she wants it, too.

Joonmi Kakaos her boss. Minseon finishes her cereal, urges Joonmi to finish her breakfast, too. She disappears for a while to wash the dishes, put the milk, bread, cereal away, probably scribble "Joonmi sit on my face" on their whiteboard. Before she returns, falls on her knees before Joonmi's chair, under the table.

"Scoot back," she says.

And then small, steady hands are smoothing up Joonmi's legs, skating higher and higher. Minseon nuzzles her cheek against Joonmi's knee, kisses her way upwards whisper-soft, slow, teasing. Through the cotton of Joonmi's pajama pants, the touches are the faintest, most fleeting, most awful pressure. But burning, nonetheless.

“I can’t wait until Wednesday, Joonmi, babe,” she breathes, voice pitched deliberately low. "Love the way you taste, you know. Need to feel you come in my mouth. Right now," she insists.

But she's still lazing, teasing, testing with the most maddening care. And it's only at Joonmi's insistence—a soft, urgent "Minseon"—that she moves. Tugs urgently at Joonmi's pajama bottoms. She pulls them completely off but leaves Joonmi's underwear on.

And Joonmi whimpers, knows that even though Minseon breathed about how much she'd wanted this, called her boss too in order to _do_ this, that even then she'll still drag it out. Lick at Joonmi through fabric until she's a sobbing, trembling mess of sensation, so gone she's begging for more, tangling her fingers in Minseon's hair, grinding against her mouth, rough and demanding in her desperation.

And Joonmi's body heats at just the prospect, the memory of the countless times she's come apart at Minseon's hands, fingers, tongue. Joonmi's inundated with a heady pulse of arousal. Body tingling, she tilts her hips up in invitation, breathing hard and fast through her mouth.

And Minseon hasn't even _started_ , but her eyes are burning up at Joonmi. And Joonmi's body is responding so, so fast. Throbbing, thrumming, trembling.

Minseon trails upwards with a series of succulent kisses along her thighs, sloppier the closer she gets. Minseon swirls her tongue along the moles dotting Joonmi's skin, scrapes her teeth, and Joonmi's legs fall further open with a stilted moan.

Minseon's eyelashes flutter kisses too, whispering along the delicate skin. "Get wet, Joonmi, baby," she urges, dragging her lips in dizzying trail. Up up up. Almost almost almost. "This won't be any fun if you're not wet, you know."

And Minseon's fingers follow her mouth. Small, but strong, they dig into Joonmi's thighs drag her closer. And Minseon's need is more apparent, then. In the way her fingers squeeze in appreciation, molding Joonmi's flesh with the most appraising caresses. Joonmi moans at the bite of pink manicured fingernails.

And Minseon makes a show of it, moans into her skin, too, reaches down with one hand to touch herself, too. And it's the fluttery movement of Minseon's eyes, the way her soft sounds echo and skitter against Joonmi's skin, it's Minseon and Minseon's reactions to this, that have Joonmi growing even more impatient, wetter, hotter, more wanton. She _aches_ with arousal, closes the distant with a low moan, a desperate buck forward.

Minseon hums in approval. Tongue hot, wet, silky, even through the polka dot fabric of Joonmi's regular, non sex day, work week underwear. (She'd been saving the lace thong for Wednesday night. Hadn't _known_ , hadn't _planned_ ). But Minseon continues nonetheless. Her nose drags along Joonmi's crotch, as her mouth moves in the most delicate, devastating circuit. Up and down, side to side, lips plump, increasingly swollen, slick as she continues. Not, not nearly enough.

“So wet,” Minseon praises needlessly, and Joonmi shudders with a low moan. "Fuck, babe, you're soaking right through." She presses with her fingers. Hard, but brief. Pointed and precise. Just to watch the way Joonmi jerks.

Joonmi whimpers her name, hooks her legs around Minseon's shoulders. Invitation, encouragement, _desperation_.

Minseon drops Joonmi's legs, shifts them to wrap around her back. Quivering, limp, they scrape against the wooden chair. Minseon caresses her thighs anew, fingernails dragging down then up Joonmi's hypersensitive skin, forcing her legs further open. Her fingers trace, tease along the inside, and her thumbs hook in the band of Joonmi's underwear, nails scraping against the trembling skin of her navel.

Minseon pulls back to tug them free, pauses to drink in the sight. And Joonmi blinks down at her.

The air is charged, hot, but soft in the light, Minseon's cheeks are still creased, hair sloppy, innocent in spite of her position. And Joonmi tangles her fingers in Minseon's bun to tug it free, break the illusion. Minseon moans as Joonmi twists her fingers, arches into the pull with a broken whimper, before Joonmi drags her forward. Minseon's eyes hood, and Joonmi tugs again before releasing her.

"Don't have to be so impatient, babe," Minseon drawls, recovering easily enough, but her breath is still labored, hot and uneven against the skin of Joonmi's inner thigh. "If you wanted me to fuck you, you just had to ask."

Joonmi's answering laugh is strained. "Fuck me then," she says. " _Fuck_ me, Minseon."

But she knows it's never, ever that simple.

Minseon smiles, seems to comply as she settles more comfortably between Joonmi's legs, drags her fingers upwards to touch Joonmi again. More fully, this time. But she parts her with the most teasingly tender touch, the barest pressure, the barest pleasure. It's the most frustratingly cursory exploration, rubbing absently at the slickness between Joonmi's thighs.

"Minseon," Joonmi breathes, lip catching between her teeth.

And Minseon's finger delves further inside, strokes slow but purposeful, easing her open until Joonmi's panting, bucking upwards with the most wanton words of encouragement. Another drawnout moan and Minseon is fucking her finger inside. Faster, deeper, dragging, just exactly how Joonmi likes. A sob has her fucking another, too. And then there’s only the sweet ache, throbbing need. Scorching, building and building as Minseon curls, scissors, thrusts with a pointed accuracy that Joonmi chasing the sensation. She slumps needily against her, and the wooden table presses hard against her spine as she arches into the touch.

"Tongue," Joonmi breathes. "Please— _fuck_ —your tongue."

Minseon presses even closer. Cheeks soft, tongue hot, teeth hard, hair whispering, fingers still fucking inside. Striped bare like this, Joonmi is vulnerable, hypersensitive to every touch. And there too many sensations, contrasting, exquisite, hot. Joonmi is still terribly affected after all these years.

Her eyes flutter shut, briefly, out of instinct, overstimulation, but she forces them open. And she never really gets tired of that _way_ that Minseon has of looking at her right before she eats her out. She has the darkest, most beautiful eyes. Hooded and heavy, they twinkle with want as she licks her lips, hooks her arms beneath Joonmi's splayed knees to tug her closer. Towards the warm, wet pressure of Minseon's perfect mouth.

Minseon curls her tongue, licks her open, slow, succulent, like she's savoring the taste.

“So good,” she says, licking her lips. “You tastes so good,” she repeats. And she _means_ it, Joonmi thinks with a sudden crushing jolt of sentimentality. Minseon is so _perfect_ , and Joonmi is so in love.

Minseon breaks the moment as she shifts to suck on her clit, thrusts a third finger inside, dragging, searching, and Joonmi is too busy moaning, bucking, _feeling_ to reflect on that further. Too busy tangling her hands in Minseon's hair as she grinds against her, stutter-bucks into the smooth, insistent roll of her tongue.

Minseon shifts, swirls her tongue around Joonmi's clit with a dirty, lilting hum. Her movements wet and wide, she sucks on it briefly, shifts back to press her tongue between her fingers. Starts fucking in earnest anew.

And this isn't really what Minseon had asked of her. But she _is_ sitting and Minseon's face is right there, pressed tight, doing the most beautiful, beautiful things to Joonmi's trembling body. And it's so _good_. This exactly what Joonmi wants and needs, unscheduled and unexpected as it is.

But Minseon remembers soon enough, pulls away to blink up at her. Her lips are swollen and wet, her eyelids heavy, gaze still burning. Her hair is tangled, cheeks flushed.

"Floor," she breathes after a beat. "Let's—come on, on the floor."

Minseon tugs a little clumsily on her leg, and they tumble to the ground, laugh. Minseon rubs her elbow briefly, brushes her cheekbone, before rolling on top of her, sealing their lips together.

Joonmi can taste herself on Minseon's tongue. She moans into her mouth, threads her fingers through her hair, and Minseon kisses her even harder, more deeply, tracing every corner, making it so hard to breathe.

Minseon is panting when she pulls away to tug at Joonmi's shirt, lave a kiss on her collarbone, her breast. And Joonmi stops her to peel at her clothes, too. The ugly Las Vegas couple shirt they'd gotten on their honeymoon, her favorite plaid booty shorts.

Minseon falls on her again, and her bare skin is a welcome weight. She sucks a mark on the underside of Joonmi's left breast, smiles into her skin at the soft sound that Joonmi releases. Seems to content to tease there a while, scraping her teeth against the sensitive skin, circling her tongue around Joonmi's nipple. But a hand the back of her neck has halting her descent, returning to Joonmi's mouth easily enough.

Their bare breasts brush, nipples skating across each other. And Minseon's skin is so warm, so soft, so familiar and perfect. Joonmi moans into her mouth, twists a hand into Minseon's loose, soft hair to urge her even closer, harder. And this, this isn't exactly conducive to what she had proposed either. The position all wrong, but Joonmi can't be bothered to care. Not when Minseon skates her hand along the planes of Joonmi's stomach, teasing briefly over the damp curls between her legs. Minseon presses a thigh between Joonmi's legs, spreading her further. She braces herself on one elbow, uses her other arm to slide underneath Joonmi's back, tilt her upwards.

Then her hand is returning to where it's needed most. And Joonmi grinds upwards into the pressure, seeking further friction, as Minseon drags the heel of her palm against Joonmi's clit, slides her finger inside. Joonmi's pants are hot and wet and desperate against Minseon's throat. One hand moves to Minseon's back, gropes her ass to force her even harder, closer. The other squeezes between them, to caress at the heavy perfection of Minseon's breasts. Minseon quickens her pace as Joonmi rolls clumsily at her nipple, breathes out a quiet "fuck, Minseon."

"Gonna fuck me?" Joonmi manages as Minseon slides a second finger inside, scissors them open, and Minseon nips at her jawline in response. Rolls them over. And before she really has a chance to register the movement, Joonmi is straddling Minseon's waist, and Minseon's fingers are digging into her hips.

"Hmmmmm, yeah. Gonna sit on my face?"

Joonmi nods slowly, blinks at Minseok dazedly through her eyelashes. She drinks in her lush curves. All her pale, soft skin. Her full breasts. Her curved waist, hips, thighs. And her nude body, flushed skin looks so pretty against their beige carpet, soft in the early morning light.

“You look really hot right now," Minseon murmurs. " _Fuck_ , Joonmi." One hand remains anchored on Joonmi's hip—clenching and unclenching—while the other slides up Joonmi's body, dragging across her navel, her pebbled nipples, her sternum, her neck. Minseon's thumb catches there, caressing her throat. Minseon squeezes just the slightest, shifts to cradle her jawline, urge her downwards into another kiss. This one slow, sweet. "I love you," she whispers when she pulls away. "Come on," she purrs. "Let me make you come."

Minseon's breasts brush briefly against Joonmi's thighs, her ass, as she's hauled forward by Minseon's still surprisingly strong grip. Joonmi's thighs settle against Minseon's shoulders.

And this isn't their first time (Minseon had whispered to her after the first time, lips still slick and swollen, about how it felt like she was _drowning_ in Joonmi, how she never ever wanted to stop), but this is the first time in a while. "Two taps," she reminds her, small, nimble fingers dragging appreciatively along her waist. Joonmi nods sluggishly, hair falling in her eyes, and Minseon abandons her post—at the anchor of Minseon's hipbones—to brush it free. “Now all the way down,” she urges. “Sit all the way down.”

"Like this?" Joonmi manages, voice strained, unsteady, dropping slowly. She reaches out to brace herself against the seat of their couch.

" _Yeah_...just like that. My face is your throne," she breathes. "My love, my queen." And it's cheesy, joking almost, but Joonmi's heart lurches in her chest, beats just slightly out of time at the endearment, nonetheless. Minseon flushes further at her own words. From between Joonmi's thighs, Minseon's tongue presses self-consciously to her teeth in a shy smile. But she doesn’t relent, doesn’t take them back. Her cheeks blooming with color, face pink with arousal, “Please,” she says. “Sit down,” she urges.

And Minseon's tongue, lips, teeth, fingers are dancing along her thighs as she urges Joonmi down. More fully, _completely_. Joonmi curls forward with an embarrassingly loud, drawn out whine.

Minseon licks her open like Joonmi’s all Minseon could ever want to taste, licks and licks and licks. And Joonmi whimpers become increasingly breathy, broken. Her legs splay open more obscenely as Minseon glides her tongue up and down in the most thorough exploration. Her tongue is skillful, sinful, devastating, and Minseon's entire focus, then, is on getting Joonmi off. She makes it so so so so good. Hands on her breasts, nose at her clit, tongue stroking inside with the most devastating familiarity.

Little fragmented praises are all she can manage, then. Low moans and broken chants of Minseon's name. And Minseon hums in approval, in want, too, as she glides her tongue further inside. Veritably fucking her open, rendering her a mess of emotion and need. Joonmi jerks as she collapses forward, grinds down with a broken off whimper.

She's too far gone to attempt more, and her movements become increasing clumsy. And Minseon is fucking her tongue inside, moaning into her with a certain wrecked enthusiasm, too. Because fuck, Minseon loves this, too. And the vibrations drag more broken sounds out of desperation from Joonmi's lips as she chases the sensation, rocks down careless, needy. "Oh fuck, fuck don't stop."

Joonmi melts into the sliding heat of her tongue. She rocks down urgently into the perfect roll of it, whimpering at every delicious fuck upwards. Minseon's hands spare one last squeeze to her breasts before dragging over her hips to guide her pace. The pleasure-pain of her grip has Joonmi sobbing. Back bowed, she's wholly hers.

And Minseon's fingers are urging, her tongue coaxing, every beautifully sinful movement is an encouragement, and Joonmi is helpless to it. Awash with pleasure. It only takes one long, long suck on her clit, one echoing, vibrating moan, for Joonmi to come.

And Minseon's hands are on her waist, scratching a long, long line down, grounding her through it as every muscle locks. The sweet, sweet tension bleeds out of her with a sudden, sharp spike of pleasure. Joonmi collapses backwards when she comes, feels herself being shifted, short, strong, supple limbs tangling with hers.

Joonmi blinks up at her when she recovers, and Minseon hums, self-satisfied, licks her lips again. Slow and deliberate, for show, for Joonmi's benefit. Joonmi tugs her forward by the hair, pulls her into a kiss, and Minseon drags—hot, wet, throbbing—across her thigh. She pulls away from Joonmi's mouth, whimpers at the friction before writhing down. And beneath her, Joonmi rocks back in invitation.

They have other toys in their bedroom. Vibrators, dildos, better than _this_. And Joonmi knows there is less friction, less finesse than Minseok deserves, but Minseon is moaning, rutting against Joonmi’s thigh, moaning hot and wet into Joonmi's neck. And Joonmi gasps as Minseon rolls her hips downwards in the most sinful, sinuous grind. Minseon's a former dancer, moves with the most beautiful poise, even—especially in this.

Strung out as she is, Joonmi contributes the best she can. Running on instinct, muscle memory, affection, she tries to guide Minseon's pace, but Minseon swats at the hands at her hips.

“Stay still,” Minseon pants. Her chin crashes against her own sternum, and her eyes flutter to half-mast. Flushed, damp bangs stuck to her forehead, lips still swollen from her previous ministrations, but open to make open for husky moans, she is the most beautiful thing that Joonmi has ever seen. "But fuck—don't, don't stop touching me, Joonmi."

Minseon pants into the too-hot air as she sets the pace, and Joonmi runs one hand down the length of her back, the other along her front. She stops briefly to pinch Minseon’s nipples, continues downwards to where she's aching, swollen, flushed, wet, wet, wet. And Minseon rolls down harder, erratic and clumsy. Her moans increase in volume, pitch, her demands become more pronounced.

Joonmi's fingers seek out Minseon's clit, thumb it as Minseon grinds down more purposefully, but with less grace. Just desperate, clumsy need. She's close. And impending orgasm renders her graceless, all the more beautiful for it.

"Minseon," Joonmi moans in encouragement, watching Minseon through hooded eyes, biting her lip as Minseon throbs against her, trembles.

And Minseon's lips fall further open, jaw slack, at the low sound.

"Minseon," she drawls, "Come on, baby. Come _on_." Joonmi increases the pressure, the pace, and Minseon sobs, jerks suddenly, gorgeously with orgasm.

She collapses into her, curls herself into Joonmi's body on instinct, and Joonmi keeps stroking, drags it out until Minseon is cradling her face, dragging her onto her side.

Her kiss is lazy in the afterglow, and Joonmi smiles into it, tilts her head up for more, as Minseon thumbs at her jaw. They kiss like that for a long time, lips numb but still searching. Long, long. Long enough for Joonmi's legs to go numb from the press of carpet to her limbs. Long enough for her eyes to flutter with a certain increasingly heavy languor. Long enough for them to be barely kissing, lips barely moving at all, just pressing against each other. Long enough for Minseon to disengage with a soft grumbled "I have to give you two stickers this time," as she rises on still-wobbly legs.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~2018/9 fandom really doesn't like girlfic anymore  
>  it's interesting, idk~~


End file.
